Chapter 22 Micah #2
I’ve done more than this while injured before, but I don’t think telling him that will make it any better. I turn to face him, and while his voice had been firm, he doesn’t seem upset.
At least, I don’t think he is.
“Are you sure?” I ask, hovering near the kitchen counter instead of going to the table to join him. “I don’t mind, Ilya. It’s… the least I can do after everything.”
Ilya’s eyebrows shoot up. “Least you can do? Mishka, the least you can do is sit down and recover. Which is what I want you to do.”
He seems serious, like he wants this and isn’t going to hold it against me later. “Okay,” I tell him, and I cross over to sit down in the chair. I bite back a sound of discomfort, wishing I’d brought a pillow or something to sit down on. “Thank you,” I tell him.
Ilya frowns slightly. “Are you in pain?” He gets up and squeezes my shoulder lightly. “Hold on. I have painkillers.” He walks over to a nearby cabinet and pulls out a bottle of pills. “Later, I’ll tend to your wounds properly. Or now? But you must be hungry, too.”
“I’m really okay,” I try to reassure him. “Food sounds great. Thank you for cooking for me. I’ll cook for you next time.”
“If you like cooking.” Ilya sets the painkillers and a glass of water down in front of me, and I take them. “I made potato soup. Very filling.” He goes to fill up two bowls for us before returning and setting them down on the table.
It’s still warm, and I hope that means he hasn’t been waiting too long.
“Thank you,” I say. I wait until he’s sitting and has a spoon in hand before I dig in.
It tastes so good. I never thought potato soup could have this much flavor. I’m used to a much waterier soup, but this one is creamy and almost stew-like in its consistency. There’s sausage in there too, which I didn’t expect at all.
We eat in silence for a few moments. My heart starts to beat faster. I wrack my brain trying to figure out what to say, wondering if he’s gearing up to let me down gently and kick me out.
That’s a dumb thought. Ilya has been nothing but kind so far.
“Mishka…” Ilya sighs. “When you’re properly recovered, we should talk.”
My heart leaps into my throat, and I stir my soup, staring down at it instead of looking at him. “I’ll leave,” I whisper. “I just need a few days.”
To do what with, I don’t know.
“No,” Ilya says sternly, then he shakes his head. “I mean, if you want, you can leave. I’ll pay for an apartment for you. But I meant, we should talk about this relationship.” He lets out a strange laugh. “My friend said if I’m doing the BDSM with you, I should make sure we agree.”
Relief crashes into me, so sharply that I can’t catch my breath right away. “No,” I say quickly. “I don’t want to leave. I want to stay here with you.” I hesitate, then add, “I want to be with you.”
Ilya smiles so brightly, I start to blush in response.
“I’m very glad to hear that.” He scratches the beard on his chin. “Then after you’re feeling yourself better, we should talk about the BDSM. I don’t want to accidentally hurt you by assuming things.”
“Oh,” I say, taking another bite of soup even though I think my stomach needs to settle more before I eat.
Still, I need a second to think, and it gives me that time.
“We can talk about that. I mean, now, or we can wait. I’m not really in any shape for much right now, but that doesn’t mean I never want to do it again. ”
Because I do — as long as it’s with Ilya.
Ilya points to his tablet, which has gone to sleep by now. “I was reading about safe words. But Mishka, if you say to me to stop, I’ll stop. You can always tell me that. Okay? You can pick a word too, but I don’t want to play games where we pretend you hate what I’m doing.”
I don’t either. Not with Ilya.
I can’t fight the relief I feel at knowing I won’t have to.
“Okay,” I agree. “We can go without a safe word, because I’ll tell you to slow down or stop if I need you to.” I hesitate, grimacing. “At least, I think I will? You might need to check in with me, at least at first.”
I’m not used to trying to call a stop to things before Adam’s ready.
But Ilya isn’t Adam.
Adam is gone.
This is a whole new chapter of my life.
“Okay. We’ll learn together.” Ilya gives me a piercing gaze. “I’ll be angry if you push yourself when you don’t want to keep going.”
I swallow hard, not liking the idea of him being angry with me. “I can’t promise I’ll always call a stop to things immediately,” I say softly. “So please don’t be too mad. I have habits to unlearn.”
Ilya makes a strange sound. “Not angry. A bit upset. I really don’t want to hurt you.” He looks down at his own hands. “I’m tired of hurting others.”
“We don’t have to play at all,” I tell him. “Not that way. I like the soft things, too. Sitting at your feet, you petting my hair, serving you… It doesn’t have to be about pain.”
His expression softens. “Yes. I like that. But…” He sighs. “My friend said I need to ask about those things too. I could make you feel bad without physical pain. And that trust is most important.” He glances toward his phone. “But I have feeling my friend is a hypocrite.”
“I do trust you,” I tell him, and I mean it. I tilt my head, though, considering his words. “Why do you say your friend is a hypocrite?”
Ilya chuckles. “Because I have heard some stories about him and his partner. These big men in the city, they gossip like old Russian grandmothers.”
I can’t help but smile at that. “Big mafia men, gossiping?” I ask. “I guess rumors fly no matter where you’re at.”
“Yes.” Ilya glances down at my mostly empty bowl. “You are finished? Then go back to bed. I’ll clean up here and follow.”
“What? No,” I protest. “I can help you.”
“Why?” Ilya asks. “It’s only two plates. It’s not a two person job. Go rest up. That’s an order from your, um.” He stops and I almost think he blushes, but it’s hard to tell with the beard. “Your partner? Your Dom? What do you like to call me?”
I don’t bother to hide my smile, shy as it is. “I would like you to be both,” I say. “I…” I hesitate. “I know it’s soon, but I like the idea of being your partner.”
Ilya smiles back. “Then I’m telling you as your partner, go back to bed. I’ll be there soon with creams for your back.”
I nod, getting up from the table, and I return to his bedroom. I sink down onto the bed on my stomach with a sigh, and even though my heartbeat is fast at the idea of letting him tend to the kitchen by himself, I force myself to breathe through it.
He’d tell me if he minded.
He would.
I keep telling myself that, right up until the point when I hear him coming into the room. I lift my head so I can look at him, and he doesn’t look like he’s gotten angry in the past few minutes. He’s holding a small plastic container, and he comes to my side.
Ilya pets my hair gently. “I need you to remove your clothes, Mishka. So I can put this cream on the wounds.”
I’m not sure he’d gotten a good look at them earlier, and I’m hesitant to strip the rest of the way and show them off. It’s only going to upset him.
But then, what’s he going to do?
He can’t make Adam any deader.
I’m not sure whether I want to laugh or cry at the thought.
I slowly peel off my underwear, then shift so I can remove my shirt, too. All the while, I keep myself from looking at Ilya. I don’t know if I can handle his anger right now.
Ilya hisses sharply when he sees the full extent of the damage. I tense when he places a finger on my back.
“I’m sorry I was too slow,” Ilya says quietly.
I shake my head. “You weren’t too slow,” I tell him.
I still don’t know the depth of Adam’s intentions, but I don’t think that Ilya was wrong that if it hadn’t been this time that he’d hurt me beyond repair, the next time might have been.
Ilya guides me down onto my stomach, and my stomach flutters at being in this vulnerable position again. When Ilya moves and his shadow falls on the pillow next to me, I tense up all over again.
Just Ilya, I remind myself. He isn’t going to hurt me.
My breathing still comes far too fast.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” Ilya says as he opens the container.
I nod, my cheek resting against the pillows as I look in the opposite direction.
I still can’t handle seeing his face.
A few seconds later, I feel the cool cream on one of the welts on my ass, and it startles me enough to where I tense up completely.
“Mishka?” he asks, sounding alarmed.
I shake my head. “Just cold,” I try to reassure him.
“It’s fine.” When he starts to rub it into the welts, that’s less fine, but it’s not so bad that I have to make him stop until he gets to the deeper wounds on my back.
I think the belt must have broken the skin in a few places, because those do make me hiss in pain.
“I’ll call the doctor for you,” Ilya says, but he doesn’t stop rubbing the cream into my skin. “You’ll take it easy for the next few days.”
“I don’t need a doctor,” I say in a hurry, shaking my head as I finally look back at him. “Really, Ilya, it’s okay. I’m not that bad off.” I could’ve been. If he hadn’t arrived, what would’ve happened then?
But there’s no sense in dwelling on it. He had arrived, and it hadn’t been too late, and now I’m here — safe — with him.
Ilya doesn’t argue with me. I slowly relax into his touch, especially when the cream starts to do what it’s meant to do and numbs the pain in my back.
I don’t think I realized how much I was hurting until then.
For some reason, that makes my eyes well up all over again.
This is stupid. The pain is gone. I’m safe.
There’s no reason to cry anymore.
But I blink, and I blink, and the tears roll down my cheeks without any input from me.
“Mishka?” Ilya asks, touching one of my cheeks. “Did I hurt you?”
“No,” I say. “It feels better.” And it does. The painkillers have mostly kicked in, and the cream has gone a long way to dull the pain into something much less potent. “It’s only that…”
Why am I crying?
“I’m so grateful,” I whisper without realizing that’s even why until I say it. “I was terrified. And you saved me.”
“I will always save you,” Ilya promises. He leans down to kiss the back of my neck, his beard brushing against my skin. “You helped me see how unhappy I was. Even if you don’t stay with me, I will always be grateful.”
“I’m the grateful one,” I tell him, settling back into the pillows with a sigh. “And I’m not going anywhere.”
Not now.
And if I’m lucky, not ever.